His Curse
by TheLadyAranel
Summary: Bitterness imprisons life; love releases it. Bitterness sickens life; love heals it. Bitterness blinds life; love anoints its eyes. Thorin never forgave Nóinín, the dwarf he was to marry, & now merely seeing her face causes the hatred to grow within him, but not seeing her reminds him he cannot live without her. Nóinín was his curse. A horridly wondrous curse. Rewritten! Please R
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Rewritten. review/follow/fav...give me your thoughts please! They help get those updates out there faster!**

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Nóinín took in a sharp breath through her nose and exhaled from her mouth, releasing plumed clouds of moisture. The icy air filled her lungs to their utmost capacity; caused razors of hoarfrost to jab at her innards. Around her, snow drifts pushed against the colliding wind, causing her sight to falter and recollect itself many times. Rime had covered her eyebrows and thick hair creating an icy mound atop her head which grew heavy upon her shoulders. Not many took the old passage over the mountain anymore, and Nóinín was beginning to see why. As if the bitterness of the icy mountain wasn't enough to be a sufficient forewarning for a wary traveler, the goblins would have done the job. The stench of the vile creatures was still clinging to her axes, their blood frozen against the iron of _Baruk Khazâd_ and _Khazâd ai-mênu. _But even her mighty axes could not help her see through the winding snow.

Carefully stepping over the frozen pathways, Nóinín began to regret her decision in taking the Mountain's Pass. Her instincts had told her it would be the shortest road to her destination, but in hindsight the storm had slowed her greatly. Not knowing where to turn or what fork to take, she pressed forward and quietly prayed she had drifted in the right direction. Mumbling to herself, Nóinín knew full well her late attendance would only condemn her further and she could nothing about it due to the cursed storm. And so she pressed on, holding onto the hope that she would reach her quarry on time.

In an hour's time Nóinín had come to clearing near the end of the passage, which led westward from the mountain down into the valley beneath. A home stretch to her target had it not been for one small issue: the storm in all its glory had severed a boulder from the higher reaches and sent it clashing down, blocking the narrow walkway to the bottom. It was not uncommon for this to happen, in fact, it happened quite frequently. Yet that didn't make it less of a hassle for her to try and move around it. For a moment's time she paused and pondered the best way to go about it. That is, getting past the boulder. By now she had cleared the higher reaches of the mountain and down lower the frost fall was powdery and falling softly, so her vision was apt-able. So peering over the side of the mountain path she weighed her options. It was too high up for her to land on the ground beneath her without seriously damaging her person. (A notion that was not agreeable to her.) So leaping was out of the question. Next, she scanned the areas below for any outlying platforms of rock she could shimmy across to reach the other side. There was none. And so on and so forth she ran other options—all in vain—through her head, but it only did well enough to fuel her short tempered fuse. Having finally enough, grinding her teeth and pulling one axe and then the other from her back, Nóinín plunged the first deep into the heart of the boulder as far up as she could reach. With her upper arm's strength in one lunge she pulled her body over, soaring above it and carefully pinning her second axe into the other side in time to catch herself and slide down with ease to the path below.

'Not bad.' She thought wriggling her fingers grip around her axes, placing them back onto the clasps against her spine. 'Why didn't I think of that first off?'

As she trekked down the last path of the mountain, she could feel the ice melting from her clothes, face, and hair. From her garments the liquid sank into her boots, and from her face down her neck, and her tresses all down her backside. And so she stripped down to her undergarments once she descended the mountain's stairs and sprawled out on the warm grasses leaving the sun to dry her and her clothes. Nóinín had lain there for quite some time. Often she would find herself drifting away to times long forgotten…she would once again find herself in Erebor with her brother and father…_Brogul. Drogul. _Nothing more than phantoms now, haunting her dreams and daytime wonderings. Forever their depths would be bound to the Lonely Mountain. There their duty lied, and there their souls would rest. But it wasn't just the notion of her lost kin that bothered Nóinín so deeply. It was that in all truth her family's death had been brought on by her and her alone. Somewhere in her troubled mind Nóinín knew Thorin had been right to send her off.

He still blamed her. Placing the unneeded bloodshed in her name—made it her fault. Which indeed it had been in part, her fault…her family who perished for no other reason than trying to tame a young dwarven girl's ego. Nóinín's family was indeed a great loss to the people of Erebor. Her line—the Wolfhorns—were once protectors of the royal family. Or at least the males who bared the name protected and served. Now that she was the only one left, a great legacy and custom would die with her. Unlike Thorin's legacy (the line of Durin) he had Fíli and Kíli, and someday sons of his own. He could see his name carried on. Nóinín could not say the same.

Sighing, she dressed herself, adorned her axes, and pressed forward bound for the Shire. The trek was long and silent, which would have suited her just fine had her mind been empty. As it had been then though, it was not. It was bent on replaying the awkwardness and shame of her last encounter with Thorin…the anger…the pain…still so potent on his features as the day Erebor was lost. Only…it wasn't the anger he held for Smaug the Terrible. It was the anger he harbored towards one he once loved…

* * *

_She was there that day, the day her kin met far to the north. _

"_This task falls upon you and your people, Thorin son of Thrain. The dwarves of the Iron Hills will not aid your quest."_

_And so the King under the Mountain stood alone among his kind, without aid, no farther in his goal of retaking the mountain than the day it was stolen. The bearded faces of the Iron Hills dwarves were blank; shifty. They knew their denial in Thorin's request was a weak, sniveling way of showing no true loyalty. It was all a loss to them…_

"_I will go." Without thinking, her voice barked shockingly through the council. "I will aid you. Write this binding contract Dain." In all of her years in exile, Nóinín commanded the dwarf by her birthright. "I, Nóinín daughter of Síle, first of her name…of the line of Wolfhorn…I hereby…" She paused catching Thorin's awestricken gaze. "I hereby pledge my being to the aid of Thorin III son of Thrain, of the line Durin in the quest of reclaiming the dwarven kingdom of Erebor."_

_Dain stared blankly at the she-dwarf but when she glared down at him he took to pen and parchment. After all…she had once been future Queen under the Mountain._

"_You both must sign." An old dwarf snapped._

_Nóinín pulled a quill from the table and signed the contract then turned to Thorin. His expression was caught somewhere between awe and anger. For a moment he didn't move, he only stared at her. Nóinín pleaded with her eyes and pushed the quill into his hand. She had no idea what he was thinking, she had no idea what he thought of her. Not truly. It had been far too many years away from him to know what he thought._

_Thorin's gaze fell to the contract and there he signed it._

* * *

The rolling hills and little rivers of the Shire were as quant a scene as any. The trees swayed gently in the spring breeze and fireflies began dancing in the dusk. Stars shimmered in the sky just as indigo swirled with plumbed clouds of pink and orange. In the distance the calling of birds drifted toward her and landed pretty on her ears. As Nóinín travelled the tiny dirt paths and cobbled bridges the rushing of the river soothed her churning stomach. She was afraid…just afraid as she had been the day Erebor was attacked…

* * *

_Nóinín ran. She ran until her lungs lit with burning pain and her legs grew dense in their boots. The horns sounded through the halls of Erebor, and screams echoed in the distance like nightmarish howls. Where was she running to? It didn't matter. She ran all the same. Nóinín ran into the heart of battle, away from her brother, her father, and Thorin; disobeying their orders to make for the back entrance, disobeying their orders to try and stay alive._

_In the distance she heard Thorin scream her name, pain laced with anger as she tried to outrun those who would attempt to stop her. Let Brogul try and take her back; her brother never understood her want to fight. Was she not a Wolfhorn like the rest of them? Was it not in her blood as well as theirs to fight for their King and kin? This was her chance! What was a more perfect time or place than when the Mountain was under siege? _

_Stealing a glance back, she saw them: Her father and brother taking up arms to charge in to take her back to safety. Disappointment coursed through her as she pumped her short legs harder and faster than her own body could take to keep up. Soon she tumbled forward and into the path of a scorching blaze of dragon fire._

_It all happened so fast then; her father plunging forward and casting her aside, taking on the flame himself. For Nóinín it seemed less than reality. Her father was there, and then he was gone. So fast had the flames incinerated Drogul that she never saw the look upon his face. Had her father been afraid? Had he been worried for her, angry with her? She would never have the chance to ask. It all happened so quickly…like he had never been there at all._

_Brogul's shrieking cry caused Thorin in the distance to look to them once more. The dwarven prince had been gathering troops to advance an attempt to repel the dragon, but now he paused and saw the scene fall into play._

"_Go Back!" Brogul roared at Nóinín. The look on his face was enough to know that he blamed her and he would never forgive her. _

_In a state of shock she could not move. Eventually the shouts and fire, the clarity of faces and colors all but faded to silence and blurs. Where was father? _

_She looked at her side and gripped her axe tightly before trying to make a stand. What had she done? Marching in against a dragon with a mere axe and little training…a chance to prove herself worth, a reason to carry her name with pride. _

_Again her brother shouted at her, but this time he gripped her forearm and threw her out of the way of another flame blast, barely dodging it himself._

_Nóinín looked up from the spot she had been thrown to and the next thing she knew she was gasping for breath. Brogul may have evaded the flames, but the dragon had smashed into one of the grand pillars and caused the column to crack. It was going to crush him. _

_She needed just enough air to scream her brother's name; a split second to warn him of the impending danger behind him. But when she opened her mouth nothing came forth and when she tried again it was not her voice that emerged from the confusion and smoke. It was Thorin's._

_Brogul turned to face his lifelong friend, his prince, the man he swore to protect, but it was too late. The pillar collapsed and crushed him beneath it. He was gone._

_When the siege had ended and the whole of Erebor was lost to the dragon, Nóinín owed Thorin her life. After Brogul had been lost she couldn't move; her eyes plastered on the pillar that crushed her brother. Thorin had lifted her and taken her to safety along with others he found. _

_Now it was nightfall, and the dwarves sat scattered about the base of the mountain, searching, scavenging…mourning. All seemed lost. All was lost. But tears never filled her eyes. She couldn't believe any of it to be true. It just couldn't. Was her father truly gone? Did she really see her brother die under tons of pressure and blunt force? Had Thorin saved her?_

_Thorin…he was next to her now, unmoving, unblinking. His greatest loss this day was also her own. How could she ask for forgiveness from her prince? How could she even speak his name without feeling unworthy and shameful? _

_She spoke in a whisper. "Thorin…"_

"_Do you realize what you've done?! Do you have any idea what your thoughtlessness has done to our people?! To me?!"_

_To say yes would have been foolish, but she did indeed understand what she had done. The Wolfhorns' were noble, so noble that they fell behind Thorin's family in rank and respect. Because of Nóinín, that line ended today._

_To add to the grief that filled Thorin's heart for his people and home, the loss of Drogul and Brogul were all too great. The Wolfhorns' served and protected the royal family; Nóinín's brother was Thorin's greatest friend and confidant. _

_As for her personal relationship with Thorin…_

_Nóinín reached for his hand._

_Thorin jerked away from her touch and stood only to look down at her. "I thought I was going to lose you, to think that is what I feared. Out of every soul in Erebor my thoughts were consumed by you…if you were alive. How wrong was I to do that? To think a foolish girl I would have had as my…it matters not. Leave me Nóinín. Go to your mother's people."_

_Nóinín had stood, finally realizing what had happened. She was utterly alone now. Homeless, without family, and without him…it tried her nerves and disgracefully she ran away into the darkness of the night. For countless years she had not seen Thorin, or heard any news of the dwarf prince…she had nothing but memory to remember him by._

_If only __Nóinín__ knew that when she fled she had left behind a token, which Thorin, son of Thrain held to his chest that night and wept into. He wept for his people, for his home, for his friends and for Nóinín. That name would forever be bittersweet venom on his lips, for he hated her. Thorin hated her for her foolish ignorance and the pride that came with it. Yet somewhere in being, he yearned to reach out and hold her until her pain ceased. To him she was a poisonous flower that he so desperately wished to feed and care for…deadly in all its beauty, and for that reason he would let his hatred form a barrier she could not touch. Not in memory, not in loneliness. He would forget she ever was…_

* * *

In front of Nóinín lies a door, bright and green with a polished brass nob in the middle. Growing around it was lively ivy, snaking around the mound and falling into the bright colored flowers at her feet. Confusion is what filled her thoughts at first; was this the right place? Surely this humble little hole in the ground didn't belong to a Burglar. It was too quant, too pretty a place to house a thief. With these doubts, Nóinín wanted to be sure it was the right household before knocking upon the wooden door only to have a frightened hobbit answer. (On the roads leading to the house, many parents shouted at their children to come inside or to keep away from strangers.) An alarmed hobbit was the last thing she needed. So taking a step back, the she-dwarf combed the area searching for the mark to indicate the legitimacy of her location. Taking a few steps back, her shadow no longer blocking the door, the moon was able to cast its glow on the hobbit hole. And low and behold there it was: Burglar for hire. She had found the hobbit hole of Mr. Bilbo Baggins.

Reaching up, she pounded her first on the door and waited. Within the mound she heard faint laughter and then cries of what sounded to be frustration and pleas of sorts. Her kin had already arrived.

Waiting patiently Nóinín's heart began to skip. What if he was already here? What if he had filled the others minds with ideals that weren't truly befitting of her? And then the most horrid thought of all: What had Thorin told Dís's sons about Nóinín?

Suddenly, the door of the hobbit hole flew open and standing before her stood a much frazzled looking hobbit.

"Nóinín Wolfhorn…" Nóinín watched as the hobbit stepped out of his hobbit hole and out into the night air. "At your service? What's this all about? Are you not going to let me in?"

Bilbo shook his head. "No more dwarves are wanted here, thank you! Go bother some other hobbit if that sort of thing pleases your kind."

The she-dwarf couldn't help herself, she burst into laughter. Was her kin truly giving him such a hassle?

"What—I'm sorry did I say something funny? Do you find my predicament laughable?"

Nóinín was about to apologize for her rude outburst when two faces peered out his kitchen window. Though she had never seen them before, her dwarven connection to kin had told her they were the children of Dís. Both of them had their mother's bearing, though one the look of their father. Suddenly the front door opened.

"You must be Miss Nóinín!" A raven haired lad grinned from ear to ear, bowing lowly.

"She isn't half as ugly as you predicted she'd be, Kíli!"

Kíli's face reddened and he elbowed his brother. "I never said anything of the like."

The other started too laughed. "Oh aye. I remember, but let me apologize on my brother's behalf. Fíli, at your service! And might I say you don't look a day over ninety!"

Nóinín giggled and stepped past Bilbo, gently nudging him out of the way. She placed her hands on both of the young dwarves' shoulders. "Being smitten gets you nowhere Fíli and as for you Kíli…well no hard feelings. You aren't half as ugly as I predicted either. Now! Where's the food and drink?"

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: REVIEW! :D And thanks so much for those who did review/fav/follow. Means so much. Enjoy.**

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_Screams. Loud, agony filled, inconsolable screams._ _Síle, wife of Drogul had been in labor for three days now, and even the magic of the elves could not soothe her pains. The pregnancy in its self was not an easy one, and everyone knew one of them—Síle or the child—would not live through the delivery. _

_Her son, Brogul, had sat outside the chamber door, cringing at every new whimper and cry that came from within. His father had spoken to him the night before, but for the life of him, he could not cope with the truth. He was angry. His father, Drogul, had been indifferent when he spoke to his son, as if there was no hope. _

_It seemed so unfair to the small dwarf. He had even begged his brother not to hurt mother. In the night when Síle had been able to sleep, Brogul had snuck inside and placed his head to her round stomach, which often shook and churned. _

'_Make me a promise.' He pleaded. 'When you come out, do not hurt mother. She is very kind, and very beautiful. You will love her as I do.' Now, his pleas didn't seem to matter. _

"_What are you doing on the floor?" A small dwarven prince plopped down next to his dearest friend._

"_My mother is dying…father said so."_

_Thorin peered into the keyhole of the door. "Lady Síle is dying? I thought she was having your brother."_

_Brogul placed his head in his hands. "My brother is being difficult." _

_The small Thorin sat down next to Brogul once again and furrowed his brow. "She is screaming rather loudly. Maybe the baby is too big."_

_Brogul's eyes grew wide. "Too big?"_

_Thorin nodded. "Yes. I bet that's it. Don't worry though, they'll get him out."_

_When Brogul did not answer, Thorin continued to sit quietly with him. With the days to follow, Thorin's friend would need his presence more than ever…_

_Síle had died after giving birth unexpectedly to a baby girl. She had come down with a fever, and after two days' time, the infection took her. At the loss of his wife, Drogul had become grief-stricken and locking himself away, left his son to face the bitterness of losing his mother alone. _

_Now, after the burial, Brogul stood next to Thorin in the nursery and together they stared down at the sleeping bundle._

"_I thought you said you were having a brother." Thorin stared at his friend who continued to cry and did not answer. "Well, have you named her?"_

_Brogul shook his head and took a deep, horribly shaky breath. "She doesn't have a name."_

_The both of them pondered a moment._

"_Derval__?" Brogul muttered the name as a question and Thorin answered with an expression of someone who had just taken a large bite out of a lemon._

"_That is an old lady name." Thorin laughed, and Brogul finally smiled. "You should name her something beautiful. Something that people will remember. She is after all, a Wolfhorn."_

_Brogul shrugged. "She won't be forever. She's a girl."_

_Thorin stuck out his tongue and stared down at the bundle. "Her face looks squashed. Like a troll. I highly doubt any dwarf will want to marry her."_

"_That's my sister you're talking about! And her face is only squashed looking because she's newborn."_

"_And how do you know that?" Thorin poked the baby and when it squirmed he poked her again._

"_Stop it! And I know because my mother told me…before…before my sister was born." Brogul pulled a blanket over the sleeping babe and noticed his friend staring intently down at her. "Did you think of a name yet? And if it has anything to do with trolls I don't want to hear it."_

_Thorin stuck his tongue out at Brogul and as both of them looked down the small dwarven baby opened her eyes._

"_Nóinín." Thorin smiled. "What do you think of Nóinín?" _

_Brogul tested the name on his tongue, "No-een…Noe-neen…Nóinín."_

_Thorin grinned ear to ear. "There you go. The troll baby has a name."_

_Brogul tackled his friend for the comment, and for a little while, the pain was forgotten._

* * *

Poor Bilbo slumped into his armchair and pinched the bridge of his nose with two stubby hobbit fingers. No amount of therapy in all Middle-Earth was going to clear his now scarred conscience from the sight he beheld when he opened the bathroom door. As if these dwarves barging into his home, eating all of his food and ruining his mother's trinkets weren't enough—the state of his lavatory was horrendous. They had all but destroyed the plumbing and what's worse, mud—he prayed it be mud—covered the sink, floors, and tub. His only thought on how it got there was that these hooligans had no idea how to properly use a toilet. They couldn't give him just one moment's peace.

Not even now as they were setting about making his dining table, pulling out chairs that had been placed away and using his mother's fine china. (It nearly caused him faint when Nori had nearly dropped a piece of it.) But what flustered the hobbit most was that no one had answered his question as to why all these dwarves were in house in the first place. Not even Gandalf would shed light on the subject.

"They are quite a merry gathering…once you get used to them." The wizard had told him.

And Bilbo was not about to hide the fact that he did not want to get used to them at all. They behaved like animals, and as much as he tried to get them to leave (politely mind you) they were his guests…although uninvited. And being that they were guests, Bilbo was in return a gracious host going as far as to make sure each dwarf was comfortable. Yet now, he was truly beginning to get fed up with this shenanigan.

"I want them out!" Bilbo bellowed at the wizard, who in return gave the hobbit a quizzical glance.

"And where would you have them go dear Bilbo?"

Mr. Baggins flailed his arms in the air and then shrugged shaking his head. "I don't care...They can go home! Yes, Gandalf, make them go home!"

The wizard peered into the dining room where the dwarves sat making merry and drinking to their delight before motioning for Bilbo to follow him into the parlor. It was there, he shed some insight.

"What if I told you Mr. Baggins that they have no home to go home to?"

The hobbit scrunched his features. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Just as Gandalf took a breath to answer, Ori walked up to Bilbo with a cleaned dish. "Excuse me, but what should I do with my plate?"

The next thing any of them knew, Fíli and Kíli went about throwing the plate back and forth. What happened next…well I'm sure we all know what followed…

After sending poor Bilbo into a state of shock and mixed emotions of pleasant surprise (All of his silverware and china were put away clean and neat) all the dwarves laughed heartily and then as if by queue, grew silent as three solid knocks fell upon the door.

"He is here." Gandalf spoke with an omnipotent volume.

The hobbit peered around and joined in the stillness. "Who—Gandalf who is here?"

The grey wizard stood from his hobbit-sized chair and went to the round door, pulling it open.

Nóinín stood with the rest of the company and perched herself on her tip toes to see over Dwalin. Holding her breath she waited. It seemed like an eternity before she heard him speak.

"Gandalf, I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way—twice. I wouldn't have been able to find it at all if it weren't for the mark on the door."

Nóinín smiled as Bilbo interjected, "There is no _mark_ on _that_ door!" That poor little hobbit had no idea who is was talking too, and the look on Thorin's face made him slink slightly, as if he was sorry he said anything in the first place.

"There is a mark, I put it there myself…now Bilbo, let me introduce the leader of our company Thorin Oakenshield."

* * *

Nóinín watched in silence as Thorin ate. The company sitting round him did the same, and chill grew in the air hovering over the dining table. Thorin's grim expression was enough to tell them all—aside from Nóinín who already knew—no help would come from the Iron Hills. Still, Dwalin held a small hope.

"Did they all come, then?"

The dwarven king nodded, "Aye, dwarves from all seven kingdoms." He glanced at Nóinín.

"And what did they say?" Dwalin placed a heavily armored forearm on the tabletop. "Is Dain with us?"

Thorin no longer pretended to stare away from her, nor did he feel the need to give his people more hope than what they had. "They will not come. They say this quest is ours and ours alone…"

Sighs softly illuminated the room, leaving poor Mr. Baggins feeling rather awkward. Being it was his dining room, and here fourteen dwarves sat, talking of adventures and quests. The grey wizard had seen this and asked for Bilbo to bring more candles into the room.

"This will be difficult." Balin stared directly into Thorin's eyes, in no way hiding the gravity of the situation. "We number just fourteen. Many of us are _old_ warriors, and none of us are the brightest."

Nóinín raised her brow at the old dwarf, but the rest of the company beat her to the point of voicing their insulted egos. Little Ori stood and voiced that he wasn't afraid; he'd take on Smaug himself for Thorin and Erebor, but others pulled him back into his seat before he could go on.

"We may be few, but we are all fighters." Fíli slammed his fist on the table.

"And do you forget? We have a Wolfhorn in our company! Not to mention a world renowned wizard! Gandalf would have slayed hundreds of dragons in his time!"

Gandalf coughed on his pipe smoke and held up his hands almost modestly. "Well…I've—n"

"Well how many then?" Some asked. "Yes, give us a number!"

The dwarves went into a frenzy of hollering and spiting insults at one another save Balin, Nóinín, and Thorin. Both gave their king a glance and Thorin then stood and bellowed at his companions. "Do you not think others have seen the tides changing? Do you honestly believe we are the only ones in motion to take back Erebor?"

The room went silent once more.

"We must fight anyone who stands in our way! Erebor belongs to us. Do we seize this chance to take back our home?! Who is with me?!"

Each member of the company hollered their loyalty, but Balin brought an issue to their attention. "You forget, the front gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain."

Gandalf raised a hand in protest and glanced over at Thorin. "That is not entirely true my dear Balin," As if by his magic, the grey wizard produced a map and then a key. Thorin eyed the two trinkets as if they were the most precious of all treasures.

"How came you by this?"

Nóinín stared in awe of both the map and the key, placing her hand on Thorin's forearm with good intent. He simply nudged her away and reached out for the key.

"It was given to me by Thrain, your father."

The room grew eerily silent. A moment of unspoken respect was issued for their lost King, before Fíli spoke. "If there is a key, there must be a door."

"Yes. There is a passage to the lower halls of Erebor, but there is one small issue regarding the door."

Nóinín studied the map carefully from her seat. "Dwarven doors are invisible when locked."

Gandalf nodded. "Exactly; the answer is hidden somewhere in this map, but I do not have the skill to decipher it. Though there is hope: Others in Middle-Earth still have the skill to read it." He paused and caught Thorin's eyes. They both knew who could read the map, and the king was not fond of the notion. The wizard continued. "Once we have the answers we seek, someone may enter the lower halls. It is a task which requires great stealth, and no small amount of courage."

Ori pointed to Bilbo. "That's why we need a Burglar!"

Mr. Baggins rocked on his heels. "Indeed, and an expert one at that I would imagine!"

Every dwarven face was now glued to Bilbo's person and soon the Hobbit's hands flew up and he cried, "Oh no! Not me, I'm no burglar! I've never stolen a thing in my life!" He hoped that was a convincing lie. (For Bilbo had stolen things such as apples, from his neighbors' orchards when he was a boy and things of the like.)

Balin sighed and slushed around his ale in the old tankard he held before he, by everyone's surprise, agreed with Mr. Baggins. "In agreement with the hobbit, he is not burglar material."

Murmurs snaked around the small table and then erupted into shouts once more. Thorin shared a glance with Gandalf; the wizard stood and the room grew dark with his magic as his voice boomed with omnipotence. "Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a Burglar, then a Burglar Bilbo Baggins is!" Sighing, Gandalf turned to Thorin. "You must trust me on this."

With a quizzical feature, the dwarven king faced Balin. "Alright. We do you it Gandalf's way. Give him the contract."

"What?! NO, no, no, no!" Bilbo shook his head but took the parchment when Balin held up his hand and placed it in Bilbo's breast pocket.

"Look it over laddie."

Now Bilbo had no choice. He couldn't be rude and refuse to at least give it a quick glancing read. And so he opened it watching as it fell down to his furry toes. Beginning to read it aloud he stopped when he came to the part where he might die many a low and painful death. Expect for one... _"Incineration?"_

Bofur nodded smoking on his pipe, "Oh aye. Melt the flesh right off your bones."

Bilbo heard the dwarf's words, but turned this way and that as if he the shock of such a thing caused his mind to wander elsewhere. "I…I think I need to sit down."…

* * *

The night had grown late, and many of the dwarves had taken to falling asleep where they sat in Bilbo's living room. Nóinín however, sat wide awake on the front porch. In her mind, the song of the Misty Mountains still played in her mind as clear as crystal. It was a lament for her people, for the courage beating in each dwarf's heart. A burning rage to take back what was once theirs—what was once the crowned jewel of all Middle-Earth. In Nóinín's heart, she never held such a weight over what had happened all those years ago…she had never allowed herself to take the siege so personal. She felt as if the whole of it had been her fault. Of course, this was absurd. Bringing her knees to her chest and crossing her legs, she exhaled deeply full of sadness.

"Why did you come?" The deep voice made her cringe in pain and longing. It was the first time Thorin had addressed her since that fateful day.

Nóinín did not move, she only shifted her gaze to his person. "You needed help." She spoke honestly, "No one else would have stood with you."

Pulling out his pipe, Thorin sat next to the she-dwarf and lit it there; soon he was blowing smoke rings of green and blue, commanding them to hover over Nóinín's head like a halo. When she lightly laughed at this, he cleared his throat. "Nóinín…"

His voice so soft, so gently was enough for her to find strength to gaze into his eyes and meet his features. It was enough to cause him pain, and form the barrier once again. "I will not risk the lives of these dwarves to protect you. Not again. You must rely on your skill."

She stared in awe at his bluntness. Casting her eyes away from him she said nothing, trying to hide her discomfort and pain. At this, Thorin stood and made for the comfort of his bed. Yet, at the door he paused and turned his head slightly to look back at her. "It is good to see you again, Nóinín." And then, he went to bed.

Nóinín was left to sit in the darkness of the Shire alone, but the bitter sweetness of his voice was enough for her to be content. She closed her eyes, and let the tears fall.

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews/favs/follows. Keep them coming! :) Enjoy.**

* * *

"_Brogul, I wanna tell you somethin'! Slow down!" Little Nóinín pumped her little legs to reach her brother. _

"_What is it? I'm busy Nóinín." At the death of their mother, Brogul had become her soul caretaker in the absence of their father; which was more often than not in the darker days of Erebor. _

_Nóinín's eyes gleamed with pride as she opened her mouth to tell her brother the good news: She had finally received her first weapons mastery lesson. But before she could utter a word, Thorin had stepped forward and stole Brogul's attention._

"_My dear friend, can you spare a moment?" The prince sounded troubled._

_Nodding, Brogul looked down at his sister and motioned for Thorin to speak to him out of earshot. This did not pass her._

"_Hey! I was talking first!" _

_Brogul turned with a frown on his face. "It isn't polite to interrupt Nóinín. Wait for me." He turned his attention back to Thorin, who then began talking in hushed tones. From what Nóinín could tell, the prince was concerned about Thrain. He was concerned about things that she didn't rightly care about at the time. _

"_Listen, I was talking first. He's the one that ain't being polite." A frown covered her face as she crossed her arms and narrowed her gaze at Thorin. It wasn't fair. _

_Nóinín's brother grabbed her arm and brought her before Thorin, anger and disappointment written all over his face. "Thorin will be King one day, Nóinín. When he speaks, all must listen. It is respectful, and the way things are. Now, apologize for interrupting. I will not go through this again with you. I haven't the time."_

_Nóinín's face produced a red coloring in matched anger, and the glare she placed in Thorin's direction only intensified. "Well, I'm a Wolfhorn and when I speak people should shut up and listen. Besides, he ain't King yet. He's just a prince."_

"_Nóinín!" Brogul stared down at his sister and raised his hand, which Thorin gently grabbed and lowered._

"_She sounds like another dwarf we both knew. Your mother's fire is apparent."_

_Both Wolfhorns' looked to Thorin, and Brogul lowered his eyes. "My mother knew when to hold her tongue."_

"_She also spoke her mind. Nóinín is right. It was impolite for me to intrude on her excitement." The prince squatted down to her height and tugged on her braid. "What is it you wanted to tell your brother? May I ask?"_

_Nóinín pushed him away, but Thorin held onto her little hand. "Would you rather feel your brother's hand against your mouth? Come now, I'm not hurting you. What is it you wanted to say?"_

_She looked up at her brother who stood still and grim. He was angry with her and her once enthusiasm disappeared. Sighing, Nóinín looked back at Thorin. "I attended my first weapons class."_

_Thorin stared up at Brogul and rose up. "A weapons class?"_

"_Aye." Brogul sighed and scratched his beard. "She is a Wolfhorn. It was decided she would train, but now I'm not so sure. Not until she learns discipline."_

_Nóinín opened her mouth in defiance, but her brother stopped her. "Go on, find __Dís__."_

"_And do what exactly? She's six."_

_No answer came, and she watched as both dwarves walked away consumed in their talk of the King and of things __Nóinín didn't catch. _

_She didn't like Thorin. He always seemed to steal Brogul's attention when she needed it most. Brogul didn't even ask her how her class went. It was all about Thorin._

_She stood there dumbfounded for a moment, and then trudged away quite unhappily to find __Dís__._

"_Your brother is an idiot." __Nóinín sat on the steps leading to the King's throne room. She was letting __Dís__ practice plaiting with her own hair._

"_Sit still! Now I have to start all over again." The princess huffed and yanked out the braid causing __her friend to jump._

_It was always like this with the two of them. Dís__often got under __Nóinín's skin, but Nóinín also knew what it was like to not have someone to play with at that age. It wasn't a pity, it was just sympathy. Nóinín simply went along with it. _

"_Which brother?" __Dís started the braid over, yanking and tugging in ways that made __Nóinín want to tackle her._

"_Thorin."_

* * *

Thorin and Company rose early that morning, just as the sun peaked over the pines and the dew clung to the flowers. It was a grand summer morning, and their spirits couldn't have been higher. (Aside from Mr. Baggins not accompanying them.) Fili, Kili, and Nóinín saddled the ponies just as Dwalin and Bombur packed what food had been left over from the night prior. Bifur, Bofur, and Balin all cleaned up Bilbo's kitchen and tidied the sitting room where most of them had tracked mud. Nori, Ori, and Oin backtracked and made certain nothing was being forgotten, while Gloin and Dori did a head count. When everything seemed to be in order, Thorin gave the command. All fourteen dwarves climbed onto their ponies and secured their personal belongings before trotting down Bag-End and onto the forest path.

It was hard for Nóinín to adjust at first. Having been alone for all the years away from kin; she had traveled unaccompanied for as long as memory allowed. It had been one-hundred and seventy-five years since her eyes had lain upon Thorin or any of their kind for that matter. Nóinín had wandered aimlessly, without a home, without family. Being here in the Company…it was agreeable.

"I'm willing to bet Bilbo will catch up." Kili barked from the back of the line.

"No, he won't. Bilbo is a _Baggins of Bag-End!_ And a Baggins is entirely respectable!" Fili mocked the little Hobbit, laughing.

Soon all of them were taking bets and giving their own opinions on Bilbo. They began bickering back and forth on whether the little fellow would show or not. Even Gandalf placed his ante (In Bilbo's favor of course) which every dwarf present expected. Inviting the Hobbit along had been the wizard's doing in the first place. It would have been right out queer had Gandalf placed the stake _against_ Bilbo.

"Do you really think he will show?" Ori asked of the grey wizard.

Gandalf glanced out of the corner of his eye at Ori and briskly nodded once. "Of course master dwarf. He may be a Baggins but the blood of a Took runs through him. He will show."

Nóinín trotted up next to Thorin, who in spite of giving his thorough opinion of Bilbo did not wager gold for or against the Hobbit. He seemed displeased with the whole ordeal. Whether or not it was due to the fact that his nephews were starting a bidding war or that he had made a trek to the Shire for nothing, Nóinín couldn't tell. Though she was sure it was one of the two.

"Fili and Kili are only trying to have some fun Thorin. It isn't hurting anything."

Thorin did not look at her; he simply nodded and stared straight ahead.

'So he must be upset with the latter.' She thought. "The Shire, it has a beautiful landscape, don't you agree?"

Sighing, Thorin glimpsed over her before speaking low and hushed. "Do not speak to me as though we've been close friends all these years. You abandoned everything your line stands for."

Nóinín stopped her pony for a moment trying to register what had just come out of Thorin's mouth. When she had a moment to think, her face grew red with anger and hurt. "I was fourteen Thorin. A child without family, without anyone!" Her voice grew loud and the company slowed to a halt. Thorin spun around so that he was face to face with her.

"You chose to leave."

She fumed. "Chose?! You sent me away. Cast me aside as if everything you ever…everything we…my family…I was…"

Gandalf's look of concern did not pass the King, and Thorin's gaze shifted from the wizard to Nóinín. "You were prone to acting childish Nóinín."

"And it seems you still are." Nóinín's eyes stung with rage and she backtracked to Fili.

They rode on in silence for quite some time after that. Glances traced back to the she-dwarf, but Fili and Kili did well enough to obscure Nóinín's view while their friend shed her few tears. If anyone understood Thorin's strange behavior since Erebor, it was his nephews. The Thorin after Smaug was the only Thorin they knew. And because of that, Nóinín pitied them.

Bilbo had finally caught up with the Company just as Gandalf and Kili had predicted. Although Bilbo did not seem too happy with being the center of a bidding game, not happy at all. On top of all of that, he took on a sneezing fit which was produced by pony hair. He halted the company once in an attempt to get them to go back for his handkerchief but of course that was just ridiculous.

They travelled on this way for the whole day, making good time and keeping a steady pace. What was more to their liking was the fact that while still in largely occupied territories they were not stopped by anyone. It made things simple, and easy. They passed through small patches of forest and then into the rocky hill which gave them a higher up view of the landscape.

When dusk came Gandalf instructed they find greater ground, guarded on all sides save one, so no rambling bandit cutthroats could ambush them in the night. For Bilbo's sake the _bandit_ was used in the place of Orcs, or Goblins. The poor little fellow nearly fainted at the thought of having to leave behind a handkerchief. Could you possibly imagine the mention of Orcs? Fili and Kili noticed this.

They found a cliff leading up from a path that had been difficult to find and rounded just to the peak of a smaller ledge where they could keep the ponies. On top, the flat surface was large enough to hold them all plus the little gear they had. There was even a small spring opening from one of the larger boulders where they could fill up on their supply of water. It seemed a perfect place to set up camp, but one must be wary in the wilds of the world.

Thorin sent Bifur and Dwalin to scout the formation for any openings where dark things might be hiding and when they came back with nothing to report, they all unpacked.

First thing was first and that was to unsaddle the tired ponies and water them. That job was given to Fili and Kili. (Who always seemed to be on pony detail) Next, Gloin and Oin were set on making a fire which then brought Bofur and Bombur to start dinner. To see dwarves working together was a comical sight indeed but by the time all the prepping and unpacking was done, their little cliff was quite secure.

By the time dinner was done, night had fallen and the sounds of the wilds in the darkness differed greatly from the sounds of daylight. They all ate in silence as they listened to the howls and bays of whatever creature lay just below them. It was an eerie thing to hear.

"What's out there?" Bilbo turned to Nóinín, trouble written all over his face.

She shrugged. "A number of things…wolves mostly. In this case it's just one."

Bilbo's face drained color. "A wolf you say? What's it howling like that for? Awful sound. Is it wounded?"

Nóinín smirked and pursed her lips, throwing a twig into the flames. As she spoke, she watched as the red and orange licked up the wood, cracking it in the intense heat. Fire.

"It's lost. Separated from its kin…it's a lonely howl...I know it well."

"Know? How do you know?"

Nóinín sighed and tilted her head with a passive attitude and stood up. "I just know."

Grabbing her axes and a thin slice of jerky, Nóinín nodded over to Dwalin. "I'm going to keep watch…wolves aren't the only beasts out there."

Even at a good distance Nóinín could still hear Bilbo question what other beasts could linger in the darkness of the lowlands. She could also hear Kili answer truthfully, but in a way that would most definitely frighten their Burglar. Laughing, Nóinín smiled. Children will be children.

She sat there on the rock for quite some time. Dozing here and there, Nóinín fought to keep her own eyes alert. No watch had been ordered, but after the sounds of Orcs she needed to be sure Fili, Kili, stayed safe…she had made a promise.

A noise from the other side of the rock startled the dwarf, almost causing her to lose her footing and tumble down the cliff itself. After a struggle of finding her grip again, Nóinín slowly pulled from her back, the first axe. As quietly as she could she rounded the side of the rock, careful to keep balance and precision in check.

"Who is there?" She whispered.

To her surprise, Thorin answered. "It's me. Now for Durin's sake put away your axe. What were you planning to do anyway?"

Blushing, she did as he asked and followed him around to the base where she had been sitting.

He stood there for a long while, looking out into the darkness of the plains. His features soft, but bitter. Age had only increased his attractiveness, but somewhere in his eyes, age had also been cruel.

Finally he spoke. "Nóinín, I need you to listen to what I have to say."

* * *

"_What?!" __Nóinín jumped from her seat at the dining table. Both her father and brother did not budge. The young she-dwarf's bursts of anger were expected. Hot blooded temper ran in her family stronger than anything else._

"_You are old enough now to know." Her father sat back proudly, running a thick hand through his grand beard. _

_Brogul tried a more reasonable approach with his sister. "It's an old custom Nóinín. A practical business union if you will. What dwarf do you know that isn't married into wealthy noble lines? It isn't a death sentence. Mother was married to father for those reasons. Our lines must carry on."_

_Nóinín fumed. "I will __**not**__ birth his __**spawn**__. By Durin's beard I refuse."_

_Her outspoken refusal lit a fire under her father, and Drogul's face became the color of his beard. "By my beard you will! It isn't a matter of adoration! It is a partnership. A husband is not to look at and adore, a husband is to get."_

_The teary dwarf turned to her brother and pleaded. "Brogul please! He doesn't even have a decent beard!"_

_Brogul couldn't help but smile at his sister protest. "He is young. If you want hairy, marry a monkey."_

"_I'd rather."_

_Drogul flipped the dining table over in one strong flexion of his arms. His son pleaded with him to let Nóinín have a few minutes alone with him—that perhaps he could reason with her._

_Huffing, Drogul pulled his pants up from his lower waist and trotted into the deeper recesses of the home. Nóinín's brother motioned for her to help him lift the table and then asked her kindly to sit next to him, offering her ale. She took it._

"_It isn't a bad as you make it out to be Nóinín. Thorin is a dear friend. And you will be Queen one day."_

_Nóinín gripped her ale firmly, biting her cheek. "Wolfhorns are sworn to protect the royal line."_

_Brogul reached out for his sister. "What a better way to protect them? You will have his children and they will have the protection of their mother, as well as their uncle and grandfather."_

"_NO."_

"_Nóinín, what has he ever done to you?"_

_The she-dwarf broke eye contact with her brother and stared into the hearth. How could she possibly explain it? He hadn't done anything to her personally. Nothing aside from tearing her brother from her childhood: it was a constant battle for family affection because of him._

"_Nothing. He's done nothing to me."_

_Brogul sighed. "Then what is your rebuttal? These things take years. It isn't as if we are sending you away this evening. We may take practical steps in securing family lines, but we aren't heartless. We all know the saying of friendship yes?" He spoke it as a question._

_Nóinín nodded. "The difference between a friend and an acquaintance is about one-hundred years."_

_Her brother smiled. "Exactly. Just…try to make this easy on him—" Nóinín glared at her brother heatedly. "And for you of course. Don't look at me like that. Please Nóinín…for mother? You have no idea the dreams she had for you when it was known you were a female. Above all she wanted this for you."_

_Nóinín cringed at the mention of her mother. Though she had never known Síle, the very thought of her brought unbearable sadness to her daughter. For dwarves have a strong connection to kin, even without knowing them truly. _

"_You're making that up."_

_They both smiled in pain at the thought of their mother._

"_No dear sister…she wished it. I swear."_

* * *

"Go on…I'm listening." Nóinín spoke each word without emotion. Almost as if her voice had been silenced by some wicked thing. Thorin looked down at her coolly, his breath filling the air in large puffs of moisture.

The night had closed in around them, and even the Orcs were still in the chill of the darkness. For a moment, the King closed his eyes and became completely vulnerable in her eyes. He was the Thorin she once knew.

"Thorin…you can tell me. What is it?" She reached out to her King, forcing him to open his eyes and sigh heavily.

"It's the Burglar." Thorin pulled her hands from his and looked out over the plains once again. "Do you feel it wise to share Erebor's treasure with him should he make it that far?"

For a moment, Nóinín stood still. Had her heart not been damaged enough by this dwarf already? After so many years of being apart from one another…all that time he had to learn to forgive her, and here he was taking his council to her…over Bilbo. No mention of what had happened before Smaug, no attempt to repent for his foul mood earlier that day. It was just a dwarf's greediness of gold. Yet, she couldn't say it shocked her. Thorin had his grandfather's sickness to an extent: though he'd never put the lives of his people in jeopardy over it.

"I think Bilbo deserves every bit of what was promised. That is, if he succeeds and completes the tasks ahead of him. All of us do. There was a legal contract signed." Nóinín cursed as she felt her voice break into small, hurt fragments. She was giving her all in this moment with him. She was giving her all hoping that if she abided and helped him in this matter he would soon come to her and discuss something closer to the both of them.

"How can we place our hopes in the Halfling? He can't even properly hold a sword."

Shrugging, Nóinín lifted her axe and secured it on her back. "He will learn. We all did. Just like Gandalf said…he is a Took."

With that, the she-dwarf rounded the corner and made her way back to the camp.

She curled up next to Bofur for warmth as the late night grew cold. In the dark of nightfall Nóinín murmured the lyrics to a song her brother would sing to her and it was then she had wished her kin was with her here. So many things needed to be said. Nóinín needed her brother's advice—his strength. All the years spent trying to ignore the awful mistakes she had made in one last attempt to prove she could protect the ones she loved…in vain. Never had she left so utterly alone in the world. No amount of meditation could heal those wounds. Everyone she ever loved was lost to her. Her father, brother…even little Dís…all gone.

Nóinín stole a glance at her dearest friend's sons. Dís risked everything bringing the news of her sons' births to her friend. She knew the risks of sending word to Nóinín…but she had done it regardless. She sent word through Gandalf all those years ago in hopes that her dear friend would still raise her axes in the act of protecting Durin's youngest heirs. Her last request of Nóinín…the last she had ever heard of Dís.

"Are you crying lass?" Bofur's voice was heavy with sleep.

Nóinín wiped her nose with the back of her hand before answering. "No. I'm fine. Just cold."

Bofur's face though full of sleepiness, didn't seem to buy the coy response. Which is why when he didn't press the matter, Nóinín was most thankful. Instead he reached around the back of his head and pulled the blanket he had been using a pillow from there. Smiling, he gave it to her.

"There you go lass. Now, get some forty winks, we should be carrying on first daylight."

Nóinín thanked him and wrapped herself tightly in the comfort of the ragged fabric. Closing her eyes tightly, she tried to forget. She tried to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Best chapter yet. (I've actually taken time to make this one good!) That and I will be going back and putting more detail and length into each chapter. Pretty much rewriting it, but don't worry. Nothing drastic is going to change in the plot. I just want to give it something better. That, and since I'm taking so much time to do all of this, I ask you please to give your thoughts and opinions. I may though, depending on responses, discontinue the tale of ****Nóinín****. (Sad day v.v ) Regardless, I will update and rewrite the chapters leading up to this one.**

**Also: Attached to my profile is a link to two pictures. One is ****Nóinín now with the company, and the other is Nóinín when she lived in Erebor.**

**And a note on that: I've done some research and Thorin was 24 when Erebor was attacked. Making Nóinín 14. Dwarves age rapidly at first, until they reach about 18 our years (24 for Thorin and for Nóinín she'd be about 16) they then don't progress in growth until about 90. So hopefully that doesn't confuse any of you with this and it helps you to better understand the age difference between the two dwarves.**

* * *

_Never in all her twelve years had she been so miserable. Learning the chores of sewing and harp playing nearly brought her to tears a fortnight into her lessons. It wasn't that she disliked learning how to do these things; it was the fact that she had to learn them in order to be 'marrying material'. What was worse: __Dís at eight had all but perfected these things and made it all the more daunting for __Nóinín. Sometimes the princess got under her skin so badly she could spit fire. Everything involving the arts of being ladylike had become a competition between the two. It often grew into a war of needles and thread. And what use was it to try and out-do the princess of Erebor, beloved by all her people? There was none, but when __Dís became too unbearable, __Nóinín knew of only way to set her straight. __Dís__ may have been princess to all of Erebor but one day, Nóinín would be her queen. When she had first brought this to her friend's attention __Dís's face grew as red as burning coals and for many days she did not speak to her friend._

_Though through it all, she had done as requested by her family (And all the nobles of Erebor for that matter) and strived to be unsurpassed in all she crafted. It was a trait she had been told by many, she inherited from her mother. _

_Her mother. Somehow, Nóinín had been coaxed into agreement with her diseased mother hung over her head. So much for family regard and Brogul knew that much. In all the ways he could have threatened her, taken away certain privileges, he had to stoop so low as to bring their mother into it. Perhaps though, he knew taking away her weapons lessons or punishing her by quarantining her to her room would only go so far. Nóinín was clever; she would find a way around that. Lucky for Brogul, he was clever too. So the night she was told her fate, her older brother had swung the hammer and hit the nail on its head. There was no way out of it. If her mother truly wished this for her daughter, Nóinín could do nothing but oblige. _

_Other things had changed for her as well. It wasn't just the lessons that brought out her noble life. Soon Nóinín found her trousers were exchanged for skirts and her tunics replaced with elegant dresses. At first, she didn't mind the change. She found the breeze to be quite lovely in fact. But as time went by—just like her lessons—Nóinín found something to complain about. There were no more summersaults, flip-flops, or cartwheels allowed. Also, if she found herself tripping over the layers in her skirts it was __**absolutely forbidden**__ to take a knife to the hem. That rule she had to learn the hard way. _

_For the life of her, Nóinín just could not understand why she was made to do these things solely for Thorin. What was the prince doing for her? Unequivocally nothing and she pressed her concerns to her brother._

_Of course Brogul had taken Thorin's side in the matter, he was the prince. This is where Nóinín stated that she was to be his queen, just to make things all fair and even. Brogul had brushed it aside and ruffled her hair, humming some meaningless tune. _

_Sometimes that's exactly how Nóinín felt; like she was a lyric in some gobbledygook tavern song and yet cheered on persistently to reach the goal of a most hysterical ending. She knew however, her protests were in vain and no matter how diligently she pressed the subject Brogul would continue on with his insufferable humming._

_And so her life went on this way for a year, each day waking at cockcrow to dress in ridiculous outfits and trek down to the seamstress's for a day of cross-stitching and embroidering. Nothing new, nothing exciting ever happened. It didn't take long for Nóinín to feel as though she were becoming a drone. So when the time came in her life to take the second step in courting (the longest step) she practically begged for the change…that is, until she learned the second stage involved being in the same vicinity as Thorin._

"_Can't I just go back to sewing?" Nóinín picked up her current embroidery and forgot the needle was still tucked inside. "OW!" _

"_I don't see why, we can't have you pricking you delicate fingers can we?" Brogul took his empty tankard over to the barrel of ale and filled it to the brim. He was having all the fun in the world watching Nóinín panic in her thoughts of the day ahead._

"_Don't make light of me you troll bogie…you know I'm…frightened." Suddenly, Nóinín did not seem so proud. She placed her work on the table and gazed about her home vulnerably. In all truth, she had never been so terrified of one person._

_Brogul took the seat across from his sister meeting her gaze and testing her truth. "You've never been afraid of him before. In fact, I remember a young lass who was quick in tongue and fire. Where has she run off to?" _

_Nóinín rolled her eyes. "I haven't lost my pride…I just…well…you know…its different now. I'm being courted."_

"_Not officially. Not yet anyway. You are still far too young and so is Thorin. You're only at about ten percent."_

"_Still…" Nóinín pressed her finger where she had pricked herself. The blood pooled into a tiny droplet on the tip of her finger._

_Brogul took his sister's hand and wiped the blood away with his battle-worn hands. "He is a good dwarf, and I would be a liar if I said he wasn't found of you. Be yourself today, I know it will go well."_

_Though she did not speak it out loud, Nóinín wondered what he could possibly mean by it 'going well'. On a decent day, 'going well' meant she didn't see or hear about Thorin at all. Now that she was sentenced to spend hours with him, she had no idea what to expect. Of course she was learned in the art of conversation and for conversations sake she hardly opened her mouth around other nobles. It was a horrid task trying to find the appropriate words when it came to speaking with the higher dwarven society. Often Nóinín felt that she wasn't a noble at all. Nothing she said ever came out the right way, and more often than not her temper and curt responses ended in foul glares towards her. But what really had her concerned was the fact that, try as she might, Nóinín couldn't dislike Thorin the way she used too. _

_Age had changed her, and no one in her family was able to explain it. To Nóinín it seemed to have happened overnight. Her flat chest grew small lumps and her hips wider, yet to Nóinín these things weren't as concerning as was the fact that her emotions had become zany. Two years ago she would have sneered and stomped away from Thorin…but now every time she saw him her body grew tense with an emotion she had never experienced before. It was like an ache but pleasurable. And when he smiled at her, her knees would weaken and her grip would stagger in strength. It frightened her._

"_Best hurry." That's all Brogul had said._

_Nóinín sighed before standing and making the long walk to Greater Hall of Erebor. The walk was quiet, save her footfalls against the stone. In her mind she noted how her feet kept time with her heart, which pounded slowly but loud. With so many notions running through her mind, it was hard to remain calm, but somehow she was able to do so._

_When she had reached the meeting room Nóinín was hardly surprised to find __Dís there to greet her. She knew a witness was to be present at all times when she was in Thorin's company, and who better to keep an eye on them then his sister? _

_Dís giggled and led her into the heart of the room where Thorin stood peering out the grand window over Dale. The two she-dwarves stood there for quite some time before the prince knew they were there. (In all truth, Dís had to clear her throat a few times to get his attention.) But when he did take notice his slouch straightened and his hands were molded into steady fists at his side._

"_Nóinín, forgive me but I thought we would have had to track you down. Never in all my days would I have thought Brogul Wolfhorn's younger sister would have met with me on her own free will."_

_Nóinín hung her shoulders and put her weight on one hip. "Believe me, I feel the same." _

_Dís's eyes widened in disbelief at her friend's words and posture and before __Nóinín could say anything else; __Dís had pinched her neck and straightened her bearing._

_Nóinín glared at the princess but was drawn back to Thorin as he spoke. "I was only jesting."_

_She raised a brow. "Oh were you? Hmph…I wasn't."_

"_Nóinín!" __Dís gasped._

"_It's alright Dís." Thorin's lips were pulling at a smile. "If she hadn't responded with such I would have thought she had fallen ill."_

_Nóinín grinned and laughed a little. _

"_I have something for you." Thorin reached into his pocket and pulled out a silk-wrapped trinket. Both she-dwarves stared speechlessly as the gap between Nóinín and Thorin closed. He was a good head taller than her and when standing face to face one would took up, while the other looked down to meet gazes._

"_A gift?" _

"_Of sorts, I crafted it myself. In the Great Forge." _

_Nóinín had experienced that aching emotion right then. It caused her cheeks to flush which in turn made her slightly tempered. "Somewhere in that statement I feel that you were being conceded."_

_Dís groaned at her friend, but Thorin simply chuckled. "Perhaps. I suppose it is a good thing then, having you here with me to keep my pride in check."_

_She flushed again. Nothing she ever said seemed to have the effect she had hoped for._

"_Well, are you going to open it? Or do I have to do it for you?"_

_Nóinín glared in her embarrassment and awkwardness. "You open it."_

_And so Thorin did; he took the fine silk and unwrapped the trinket he had worked so hard to perfect for her. If only she knew exactly how nervous he was. Never in all his twenty-two years had he been so damned afraid. Then again, never in all his twenty-two years did he think he could feel such a way toward the girl he had once called troll-faced as a child. All he could dwell on was whether or not she would find his work appalling and the dread of that sank into his bones._

"_How do you find it?" He lowered his eyes and held his breath. The item he had made for her was in fact her family crest, hung from a chain made of mithril. The crest itself was of other precious metals and the detail was exquisite. No jeweler or smith of men or elves could create such a thing. _

"_Its…lovely, thank you." For once, Nóinín could not find anything smart to say. Instead, she simply spoke the truth. "I'll wear it constantly."_

_Thorin stood for a moment dumbfounded, unable to properly register her response. There was no scoffing, no snide remark regarding his skill, and for once the look of antagonism on her face was absent. In fact, there was no emotion at all. She handed him the necklace; a sign that she wished for him to place it on her._

_The dwarven prince took the necklet and undid the clasp, which felt awkward in his large calloused hands. He then held it up and waited for Nóinín to move her hair away from her neck. When she had done so, Thorin carefully placed it there and secured it._

"_How does it look?" Her voice was a whisper._

_Staring at the she-dwarf Thorin was speechless. What could he say to her that could possibly define how she looked—regardless of the necklace around her neck? _

"_It's pretty." __Dís smiled shyly. No doubt her report was going to please both their fathers. _

_Nóinín blushed crimson and placed her hand over the crest. Maybe, just maybe her resentment over her betrothal was beginning to fade._

* * *

Morning had come all too quickly for her liking. Nóinín had not slept at all the night before and her body was wracked with unbearable soreness. Though much to her surprise, Mr. Baggins had been more cheerful than she had ever seen him that daybreak and he set about to pack his things in a rather hurriedly fashion in order to make good time. That isn't to say Nóinín didn't pack her things fashionably, it was just odd to see their Burglar so enthusiastic.

"What's got into you then?" She had questioned.

Bilbo took in a deep breath and pounded his walking stick into the solid ground. "What do you mean?"

The she-dwarf shook her head and waved him away while she picked up her sack and made her way down to the ponies. Her mood was not charming and she didn't want to bruise poor Bilbo with her unprovoked spite.

Yawning, Nóinín dragged her being over to her mount and stood still just there for a moment. Trying to go over the list in her head of the items she had unpacked was enough to make her brain want to explode. She was too tired to even blink let alone think and comprehend thoughts. And this put her in a foul mood.

In fact, just at dawn when Kili had shook her awake she had taken the young dwarf by his hair and flung him back a good foot just to release the stress of sleep deprivation. He had started to say something to the effect of he was just trying to help when Nóinín told him he was lucky he didn't have a beard or she would have yanked that instead.

Others of the company caught on quick to her unpleasant disposition and warned the hobbit flat out.

"Best not bother her lass." Balin had winked.

"Fear nothing more than a dwarven lass with a temper." Dwalin laughed.

"She's just being difficult." Thorin stated.

And so was expected.

However Nóinín would have been lying to herself had she said she wasn't in the least bit pleased they warned Bilbo of her temper. In a way, it lessened her foul mood.

By late afternoon the rain had started. It was a horrid, awful, miserable rain that drenched the company deep into their bones and dampened their spirits. At one point, Nóinín couldn't even feel her limbs just the thudding of heavy droplets against what she could only guess were her arms, legs, and head. It was downright ridiculous.

Now, she had once been one to complain about everything—even when there was hardly anything to complain about—but since her time in the wilderness she had become accustomed to the harsh ways of the world. Yet as this rain fell, her temper grew and the urge to bellow in her misery intensified. Nóinín had been close to saying something when Fili spoke up.

"Is anyone else feeling rather soggy?"

Kili lifted his head from against his pony's neck and yawned. "What's soggy?"

"Nothing but your head lad." Bofur chimed in.

Nóinín had finally laughed, even if it was at poor Kili's expense.

"Mr. Gandalf, can't you do something about all this?" Dori moaned.

Gandalf simply stated he was not the kind of wizard to control the raw elements in their most potent form and that it would rain until it stopped. At this, Nóinín couldn't help but notice their Burglar wasn't a cheery as he had been that morning.

Thorin had found an abandoned farmhouse in the early evening when the rain had finally stopped. By his order they were to camp there and carry on in the morning, but something about the place didn't set well with Nóinín. The small shack like structure held a death scent and it made her skin crawl. She said nothing however, and when Gandalf mentioned that they should move on, her trepidation only grew.

The three of them: Gandalf, Thorin, and Nóinín (who was in a better mood) stood inside the broken shack speaking in hushed tones.

"We should make for the hidden valley." The grey wizard heeded. "There we will find shelter, food, and answers."

Nóinín cleared her throat before speaking. "I agree with Gandalf. This place…it doesn't agree with me."

Thorin's face hardened as he glared down at Nóinín and then up at the wizard. "You would both have us seek refuge with our enemy; the very people who betrayed my grandfather, my father, and your father too Nóinín!"

The dwarf lass flung her arms out in anger. "Last I knew Thorin, my father's downfall was not brought on by an elf. Though my odium of their kind runs just as deep as yours, Gandalf is right: we have questions that only Elrond can answer."

"Perhaps you are right Nóinín." Thorin glared. "Your father's downfall was of your own making."

Nóinín's eyes widened if only for a fraction of a second, before glowering in hatred at her King. Pulling up her hood, she marched away from the conversation thinking it best to hold her tongue. She would not let his aggressiveness toward her ruin yet another good night's rest.

As she marched past Fili and Kili tending to the ponies, and Oin and Golin starting a fire, she stopped short of Bilbo, who was sitting on a stone, writing in a leather-bound book.

"What you jottin' down Mr. Bilbo?" She asked honestly curious.

Bilbo looked up into the dwarf's face blankly, before shaking his head almost as if to clear his mind of its emptiness. "Wha—oh I was just writing."

Nóinín rolled her eyes. "Aye…I can see that, but _what?"_

"Well, of this." Bilbo motioned to the area surrounding his person. "About my journey and all of you."

"Oh, Mr. Bilbo," Nóinín crouched down to his level, a pleading in her eyes. "You must promise something. Never put me in that book. If I was ever a part of this company in your eyes, in Thorin's I'll never be. You must never record my beginning or end in this journey. You do understand, don't you Mr. Bilbo?"

The hobbit stared dumbfounded at her words but nodded mechanically with puzzled features. "Al—alright. I can do that."

Nóinín grinned. "Thank you."

Later that night during ration handouts, Fili and Kili came back from the forest and into the clearing; their faces were ashen. They did not stop to speak to their uncle, nor did they go to Balin or Dwalin. They marched like broken children straight to Nóinín.

"What have you done this time?" She teased, trying to get them to smile.

"We…uh…" Kili mumbled.

Fili placed his hand on Nóinín's shoulder and acting as calm and adult like as possible he calmly said, "Bilbo has been captured by Trolls."

Nóinín dropped her bowl of stew. "_WHAT?!"_

* * *

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